


Sleep in heavenly peace

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Sleeping Together, Third Person POV, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre knows that this happens every year and watches with an affectionate, almost tender smile his friends repeating the ritual for yet another time. He’s sitting on Courfeyrac’s sofa, his socked feet propped up the table and a pile of the books and chocolate he took as presents resting proudly on the coffee table near him, Dickens’ Christmas collection resting on his lap, but he’s feeling way too exhausted to actually read. After all he has been through –and survived- Courfeyrac’s Christmas Eve party, his friends wild hangovers which he had to nurse, a family dinner during which he realized for once again how much he misses and loves his family and at the same time was stuffed up with tons of turkey and questioned about the precise time when he’d settle down with a nice girl and have a litter of grandchildren for his loving mother to spoil. </p><p>It's Christmas afternoon, and Combeferre watches as Enjolras falls asleep on Grantaire's shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep in heavenly peace

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah right so here is another piece without plot because I was stricken by way-too-much-chocolate, Christmas-afternoon depression today. Happy Christmas again, and don't do the mistake of watching The Polar Express when Christmas is almost over because then you'll want to write a Les Mis AU. Yeah. Don't do that. Especially when you have to begin studying the next day of Christmas.

There are people in this world who are fundamentally opposed to the celebration of Christmas for a variety of reasons, like Enjolras. There are people in this world who get darker and darker as Christmas approaches, people whose cheer seems to be inversely connected to that of the season, like Grantaire. Then again, there are those people who just appreciate Christmas in a reserved, positive manner despite the range of their beliefs and know how to embrace every single part of it, even the ever so slight melancholy that arrives in Christmas afternoon when darkness starts falling outside and others get that feeling that Christmas will soon be over and will not return for another year. Combeferre is one of those people.

Combeferre knows that this happens every year and watches with an affectionate, almost tender smile his friends repeating the ritual for yet another time. He’s sitting on Courfeyrac’s sofa, his socked feet propped up the table and a pile of the books and chocolate he took as presents resting proudly on the coffee table near him, Dickens’ Christmas collection resting on his lap, but he’s feeling way too exhausted to actually read. After all he has been through –and survived- Courfeyrac’s Christmas Eve party, his friends wild hangovers which he had to nurse, a family dinner during which he realized for once again how much he misses and loves his family and at the same time was stuffed up with tons of turkey and questioned about the precise time when he’d settle down with a nice girl and have a litter of grandchildren for his loving mother to spoil. After that followed a second lunch in Cosette’s with Marius and her father, which was all so warm and beautiful and they all managed to each themselves to oblivion, even Enjolras who agreed to abandon his laptop for an hour to join them at the table. Now they’re all gathered in Courfeyrac’s decorated living room in various states of unconsciousness as the evening begins to descend upon them, eyelids heavy as well as stomachs. Combeferre feels full with food and Christmas sweets, his contentment completed with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, while Marius is whimpering in Cosette’s arms who is cooing his stomach ache away after an excessive consumption of snowflake chocolate truffles. As for Joly and Bossuet, they somehow manage to get drunk and cheerful for a second time in two days without getting horrible hangovers, and Musichetta is rolling her eyes as they giggle exhaustedly with both their legs propped up on her lap, her fingers carded in their hair –or rather in Joly’s hair and her lips affectionately pressed on Bossuet’s shiny head. Joly has even forgotten of the cold he had contracted and threatened their Christmas peace and happiness, and is now mostly focused on the wonderful medical encyclopedia Enjolras got him –though Bossuet knows that this might be proven to be a bad idea after all.

Jehan and Courfeyrac are both affected by the melancholy of Christmas day slowly slipping away, yet in completely different ways. Small snowflakes have started swirling in the air and Jehan in his enormous polar bear jumper and a pair of reindeer horns, is smoking out in the balcony, the sky dark but the rooftops of the city lit by Christmas lights which he surely is going to miss. Courfeyrac, on a different aspect, with Santa's hat still on, is completely desperate to not let the day finish without making the most of it, and throws himself from the couch, making his way outside and wrapping his fingers around Jehan’s bony arm. “I’m going to have a shittone of pizza and beer and peppermint ice-cream until I’m left moaning like Pontmercy and have a marathon of whatever they’re having at the cinema, and _you_ are coming with me!”

Jehan’s melancholic face apparently lights up with a smile, as Combeferre can see from inside the living room and he follows Courfeyrac inside. Poor, exhausted Feuilly has long ago passed out on the couch, after working for half of the day and volunteering for the rest of it at the shelter –but at least they all showed up to help and bring him trays full of cooked food which made his face light up with gratefuleness. Right now he’s sleeping motionless and like the dead with Bahorel following his example after eating and drinking himself to exhaustion. The larger man in the dirty reindeer sweater, who had until now been passed out on the carpet however, throws his head up, resurrected and growls, completely awake “Are you going to watch Frozen?”

Courfeyrac snorts while entering inside the living room again, this time with Jehan on his side. “Of course we’re watching Frozen.”

“Then I’m coming or you die,” he groans sleepily, throwing himself up while Courfeyrac mutters “Cockblocker” through gritted teeth. Combeferre can’t help but smile while his friends wear their hats and wrap their scarves around their necks and he imagines the cold streets relatively empty and silent and the pavements shining with Christmas lights and he knows that they’re going to have a great time. Jehan peers his head through the door and smiles at him. “Care to join us?”

He shrugs his shoulders apologetically. “I’ll stay here and rest for a while, it’s been a long day. Plus you know how needy Enjolras gets when hell breaks loose and he has a little mulled wine, not to mention that Grantaire has of course had more than just _a little._ Also ‘Chetta and Cosette might need a hand. Have fun and don’t let Courf swallow his ice cream too fast, it’s zero degrees outside!”

 _That_ is a reality. Combeferre has been left in Courfeyrac’s living room with Enjolras and Grantaire, the oddest couple of people in the world and it really is a wonder that they haven’t yet had their twenty seventh fight for today because Grantaire will simply not stop being terrible at showing how much he loves Enjolras and Enjolras will simply always fail to see that Grantaire doesn’t actually _hate_ him and that he gets all flustered when Grantaire gets drunk at Christmas Eve and sits on the piano to sing carols, but they’re grown up men, thus Combeferre is not intending to interfere with their lives and he wisely advices Courfeyrac and his other friends to follow his example.

At the moment he finds immense interest in watching his friends being confused about what exactly they want from their lives. The fire has almost died from the fireplace and Grantaire has fallen in a drunken slumber, his head thrown back on the sofa and his mouth wide open. Enjolras seemed particularly annoyed at having to share the small couch with him, but apparently every other seat had been occupied by their friends until that very moment, and now Enjolras, full with food and with his laptop on his knees, looks exhausted. After all, he had shared Feuilly’s schedule at the shelter, and he has been working very hard both on his schoolwork and on his activism, even on Christmas, not to mention that he has always been terrible in taking care of himself. Combeferre knows the signs before he actually sees it happen. He watches Enjolras stifle a yawn, then another, he knows that his best friend’s eyelids are drooping and that the world is blurry around him despite him trying to fight it back, and he knows that Enjolras needs sleep and he needs it right now. Combeferre doesn’t react to that, he simply stretches his legs a bit and helps himself with a cookie, and soon Enjolras is unable to hold his eyes open for any longer and his head is helplessly falling on his shoulder. Satisfied enough that Enjolras is just about to get some sleep, Combeferre is ready to stand up and place a pillow under his neck so that he won’t wake up all stiff and grumpy apart from groggy and lost, like he does every time after waking up somewhere he wasn’t really supposed to fall asleep. However it is proven to be unnecessary, because Enjolras’ head falls on Grantaire’s shoulder with a small whimper and Grantaire lets a hum in his sleep without stirring at all. Combeferre’s utmost attention is now drawn by the amusing image and he can’t really take his eyes away from them because this, ironically enough, could be characterized as a Christmas miracle. It’s not long after that Enjolras starts snoring, heavy and contented from all the turkey and the Christmas log, his head resting under Grantaire’s chin. Combeferre is smiling peacefully with a hint of melancholy in his expression. Everyone seems to be occupied with someone else –even without knowing it- and suddenly he’s feeling a little alone.

It’s then that he hears a crash from the door and a voice groaning “bugger”, followed by certain swears that aren’t exactly responding to the spirit of the season. It isn’t long after that, that Éponine peers in the living room in a huge red coat and a pair of army boots, and he realizes that she shouldn’t really wear lipstick, not if she cared for other people’s wellbeing, especially his own.

Her eyes fall on the image on the couch and she groans. “A bloody Christmas miracle?”

“Something of that sort,” he raises his shoulders.

“Should I say fucking finally?” she hisses in order to not wake them up. “Or should I pull an effort not to vomit from the unbearable adorableness?”

Combeferre muffles a chuckle as she kicks off her boots and grabs the plate with the biscuits. “Mind if I crash down? My feet are fucking killing me.”

He finds himself clearing his throat, looking at the biscuits quite possessively, but then he shakes his head and makes some space for her, not that there is _enough_ space for their thighs to not touch. “Uh, sure.”

So Éponine takes a seat and she smells of smoke and whiskey and cranberries and Combeferre reckons that maybe Christmas miracles do happen after all, even with a little delay. 

 

*

When Grantaire opens his eyes with a small groan, his neck stiff and his mouth dry, someone is drooling on his jumper, someone with hair which can fucking blind a man if their locks catch a stray sunray or something. The man's arms are wrapped possessively around Grantaire's waist and his legs propped up on his lap as he's snoring blissfully. Grantaire's heart starts racing in his chest and he knows that this is the best Christmas present he could ever have asked for or maybe he's just too drunk and still sleeping and it's such a fucking pity because Enjolras smells  _so_ good and he wants to hold him like that forever and stay drunk forever only Grantaire can take a faint glimpse of an evil Jehan standing above them with a branch of mistletoe in his fingers while Courfeyrac snaps a picture, then another. He can see Eponine and Combeferre sleeping with their limbs tangled together under a blanket at the couch opposite them, smiling peacefully at the dim lights of the tree, and just when he's ready to throw himself up and tackle Courfeyrac to his death, Enjolras starts to stir, humming something incoherent and painfully adorable.

Grantaire realizes that Enjolras' grip around him is tightening dangerously and he decides that after all, it's Christmas, and whatever shall be, he should just let it the fuck be, even if it's a soddin' miracle and yes, even when it's captured in Courfeyrac's photographic archives.


End file.
